Hot Fun in the Summertime
by Aeria
Summary: Future!fic: A heatwave, a power outage, ice and frozen fruit...Hot Fun in the Summertime...obviously. Set about 6 years from the summer they're in now and just, mostly, smutty fluffy fun. COMPLETE now with three parts. Klaine.
1. Chapter 1

_Title:_ Hot Fun in the Summertime  
><em>Rating:<em> NC-17  
><em>Spoilers:<em> Not really.  
><em>Characters:<em> Kurt/Blaine  
><em>Summary:<em> Future!fic: Heatwave + Power Outage + Ice + Frozen Fruit + Klaine = Hot Fun in the Summertime...obviously. Set about 6 years from the summer they're in now.  
><em>Warnings:<em> Sex. Barebacking (in a long-term monogamous relationship)  
><em>Wordcount:<em>7200...yup, another epic one.

_A/N:_ So _this _happened. sillygleekt (on LJ) told me all about how cute the boys would be over the summer with ice and heat and whatnot and there are so many good summer fics going around and then it just kind of got smutty. Then it turned into future!fic and it got much, much smuttier. Or maybe it got smuttier first and I had to make it future!fic. Either way this covers a heap of new territory for me both in the physicality of it and in the 'six years in the future' aspect, and weirdly the level of intimacy in it. Epic amounts of thanks go to the beta for holding my hand through the entire thing as well as betaing. I was panicked. A lot. For a lot of reasons. And yet here it is all written and posted and I'm pretty pleased with it. Still, of course, I can't wait to hear what you all think.

And on top of that, because my endings are always rubbish and she inevitably has to coax and direct me into writing something half-decent, this time she accidentally produced an epilogue on her own. And it is utterly stunning and rounds the whole fic off more beautifully than I could ever have done and absolutely must be read following this. It can be found hooked on to this as the second chapter.

Anyway, enough rambling, onto the fic!

* * *

><p>"Where are you going?"<p>

Blaine winces slightly to himself because he had hoped that he wouldn't wake Kurt up. He keeps his voice low even though the noise of people yelling and car horns from the street five floors down is echoing around the room. "To try to find a flashlight."

Kurt grunts and that's never a good sign. Then he grumbles, "Why?" and it's muffled by the pillow where he's flopped his face back down.

"Because I can't sleep," Blaine whispers again, trying very hard to sound soothing.

It's about a hundred degrees and the air feels too heavy against Kurt's back and his legs and arms and _everywhere_. The only thing worse is the damp heat of the mattress beneath him. Kurt thinks about telling Blaine that that's a stupid reason to move in this heat but decides there are better things to do with what little energy he can muster. He drags the pillow out from under his cheek and chucks it unceremoniously to the floor, but finds himself unimpressed with the not-quite-as-hot sheet beneath. He hears Blaine's feet padding on the floorboards and warns, "Don't open the door, we'll lose the air."

There's a pause as Blaine considers running the risk of angering an already grumpy Kurt. "The power's been out for more than an hour. There's no way it's hotter out there than it is in here. It's probably hotter in here because of us," he reasons. "We may even get a cross-breeze if I open the windows in here and the one in the bathroom."

Kurt just makes another grumbling, displeased sound, "Whatever," and Blaine knows the unspoken threat that says if he's wrong and opening the door drags more latent heat into the room he'll pay for it.

Luckily, the air is just slightly cooler against Blaine's skin as he opens the door. He has only a moment to enjoy it before it just feels hot and heavy again. He squints against the darkness and then steps forward, knowing the small railroad apartment almost as well as he knows the man he's shared it with for three years now.

When Blaine slips back through the open bedroom, Kurt groans again, sounding sullen and tired. He keeps his eyes closed and listens to the movement, tracking Blaine as he drops a number of things on one of the bedside tables and then pulls open the windows. It must be almost eleven pm but five floors down on the street that sits on the edge of the Lower East Side and Chinatown, the city is still chaotic. It's a commotion that the city always plunges into when a blackout hits at the end—oh god, _please_ let it be the end—of a week-long heat wave.

New York is angry and tired and on edge.

So is Kurt.

"Are you going to sleep?" Blaine whispers, now standing beside the bed.

Again, Kurt considers summoning the energy to roll over or even speak properly but dismisses both and just grunts and mumbles, "Doubt it."

He can guess that Blaine smiles then. He hears a scratch and then a sizzle and the smell of sulfur and of all the dumb things for Blaine to do…Kurt cracks his eyes open and watches Blaine light a candle, his face thrown into weird angular shadows by the flickering light. Kurt could argue, but won't, instead waits for Blaine to look at him and then scowls.

"Couldn't find the flashlight," Blaine explains and sets about lighting another candle and then another.

"So you thought you'd start a fire? Because _that_ won't make it hotter."

Blaine grants him a small smirk and accompanies it with a roll of his eyes. "The windows are open. Now close your eyes and try to relax."

Actually, Kurt isn't really tired. It's hard to be tired when it's this damn hot. But he just wants it to end. Wants to close his eyes and then open them to the A/C working and Blaine on the other side of the bed just leaning over for a small kiss.

But he does as he's told, closing his eyes and breathing steadily through his nose as he wonders just how many candles Blaine needs.

The bed dips beside him and for a moment Kurt is pleased to have Blaine settling, to have some very small, vain hope of escape from the heat via sleep. He wonders if the candles are so that Blaine can read and debates asking him to read something aloud. Then the dip in the bed shifts and he feels the heat of another body moving closer to his. He groans, and not in a good way, but altogether in a very clear _'Get your oppressively hot body away from mine'_ way but Blaine ignores him with a click of his tongue.

They haven't done enough of this lately, Blaine thinks. More than a year out of college and life has taken off. Actually, life had been taking off, racing ahead of them for years now. All through college they couldn't fit enough time together into their hectic lives and would steal nights or weekends and just not get out of bed in their cramped first apartment. But it still wasn't enough. And then college finished and they were astounded to find themselves still wanting and still occasionally desperate and possibly even more in love than ever.

Now it's summer again and things are finally calming. They're getting used to being grown ups and living grown up lives and having a routine, and they should be finding more time for this but it's summer and Kurt hates summer and Blaine has been even busier than usual at work and Kurt's been the same.

When he straddles Kurt, making skin to skin contact along the sides of Kurt's hips, Kurt wriggles beneath him and twists to look back at him with a hard glare. "Blaine, seriously, get off me."

Blaine shushes him and presses a hand down into each of his shoulder blades with just enough pressure to get him to lie flat on his stomach. With a hot press of his mouth to the center of Kurt's back, Blaine very matter-of-factly and rhetorically asks, "Has anyone ever told you that you're a real sourpuss when you're overheated?"

Kurt obstinately ignores the immediate instinctive reaction his body has to the press of his boyfriend's mouth. "Yeah. _You_. Every summer."

Blaine chuckles and then stretches up and over, pressing closer with his stomach to the small of Kurt's back and leaning towards the bedside table. Kurt's curiosity gets the better of him and he turns his head and opens his eyes even as he remains stoic in his plan to eventually push Blaine to the floor and leave him there for the night.

There must be six or seven candles going if the flickering shadows are anything to go by and at least one of them is fragrant because now that Kurt thinks about it, he can smell vanilla. Blaine's fingers are plucking an ice cube out of a tall glass and all Kurt can think to say is, "You opened the freezer?"

Blaine chuckles again but can feel Kurt relaxing just a little beneath him even though his voice is still cutting. He deigns not to answer except to settle back on his knees, still astride Kurt's ass and trails his fingertips up Kurt's sides. The tensing he feels under the fingers that are just a little cold from holding the glass makes him grin.

Kurt could continue to object, could waste thoughts on any potential food spoiling in the now hundred degree freezer or he could wait it out. A very small part of his mind, he is loath to admit, isn't entirely against Blaine's now obvious attempt at seduction.

And ice couldn't really be a bad thing. Blaine's lips, distinctly cool, trace up his spine and Kurt sighs into the pillow, his eyes fluttering back shut. He hears the crunch of ice in Blaine's mouth and grumbles something incoherent before his breath escapes him in a gasp, Blaine's mouth opening between his shoulders, pressing a properly cold tongue to his skin and letting the shards of crushed ice escape across his skin slipping down along his spine.

That actually felt rather good. And something has given his enjoyment away because Blaine reaches for the bedside table again as the ice melts into water, heating and melding into more of the sweaty sheen that was already there.

This time, Blaine doesn't bother to grind the ice into crushed slivers but just holds the cube between his teeth as he rubs a course from one shoulder to the other, letting his lips catch and his cold tongue play when the cube has melted away again.

A third one, this time beneath his fingers, tracing lower, and his tongue—quickly heating again—following the path, kissing away the cold trail and lapping and biting and _yes, success_, Kurt did just moan and, of course, Blaine is now smiling triumphantly against one of his ribs.

More ice beneath his fingers, swirling arcs across Kurt's back as Blaine whispers and the air from his mouth should be too hot but it makes Kurt shiver. "Tell me that doesn't feel good."

"I'd feel better asleep." It sounds like a lie even to Kurt and he grins in spite of himself.

"But you know you wouldn't be able to get there in this heat." Blaine's tracing his own name now—he does that, but usually with his fingers. It's a well practiced script he's following when he writes Kurt's name next and then a strange amalgamation of their last names. "Perhaps I can exhaust you?"

The sound Kurt wanted to make was indifferent but it comes out a little needy. This time it's an ice cube under each hand, movements mirroring in arcs, the names and the silly endearments on either side of his back and Kurt loves that he can already feel Blaine hard against the crook of his ass because he knows it's just from the orchestration of this seduction. Kurt's given so little back.

In a last ditch effort, Kurt raises up on one elbow, twisting to look back and Blaine loses an ice cube down his side onto the sheet. He fixes Blaine with a hard stare in the half-light of the room and whispers, half seduction, half dissuasion, "I am grumpy and sweaty and sticky and—"

"And I want you," Blaine cuts across with laughter in his voice. Obviously they've played this game too many times. They both kind of love that.

Kurt pretends that Blaine hasn't spoken. "—and the absolute last thing I want is any part of you touching any part of me."

Blaine lays down flat against him in an over-exaggerated hug, making sure the ice in his hand catches between them—momentary cold that instantly sublimes into heat. "Because you are also sweaty and too hot." Oh, and now there is laughter in Kurt's voice.

"Let me change your mind." There's another questing hand to the bedside table and Kurt wriggles because this is when he wants to turn over and give back. And take. But Blaine murmurs, "Wait," so Kurt waits.

Cold down his back again, still icy but rougher and Kurt tries to see what it is that's sitting on the bedside table but can't, then Blaine's lets out a breath and starts kissing, licking at the path the cold has left making it hotter than it was before. Kurt thinks he hears something slip into Blaine's mouth but isn't sure.

Blaine shuffles back to give his hands more space to roam, to draw straight lines back and forth across the small of Kurt's back, across the dimples making him arch just a little and groan into the mattress. A finger slips beneath the waistband of his underwear, pulling it tight and then letting it snap back against Kurt's skin.

"Why are you even wearing these?" Blaine asks, trying to remember if they'd slept naked the night before.

Kurt just retorts quickly with "Why are _you_?"

Blaine chuckles and reaches again, more melting cold lines drifting across the upward curve of Kurt's ass, Blaine's other hand coaxing the material lower as he goes. "That old lady whose window faces ours in the building next door totally couldn't handle seeing me naked."

A languid stretch that makes Kurt realize how much liquid has spread across his back and he squirms to try to get his underwear further down his ass, raising himself up on his arms to stare at the headboard with a smile. "But you were okay risking her seeing you in those briefs?"

"I didn't see a problem with it." Blaine stops any further discussion with an open mouthed kiss to the curve of Kurt's ass with far more tongue than Kurt's used to.

It makes him whimper and try to wriggle around again but Blaine presses him back down with hands against his shoulders and hot breath against his neck. "I've made a mess," he murmurs.

Kurt's about to ask what exactly he's talking about when Blaine's hand brushes his cheek and across his lips and automatically he sucks two fingers into his mouth. Strawberries. That's what he's been trailing up and down his back: the frozen strawberries that Kurt uses to make smoothies every other day. He laps at the fingers before grabbing at Blaine's wrist and sucking hard at the palm of his hand.

_Fuck_. Blaine's hand is covered in juice; it's dripped into a sticky goo between his fingers and stained everything a shade of pink that's almost red. Kurt can only imagine the state of his back and is trying to remember what was written in ice and what was written in _this_.

Even as he bites at Blaine's knuckles, Blaine's mouth moves in a haphazard dance over his shoulders and, oh, _that's_ why his tongue is working hard at his skin. He's trying to suck away the flavor and the color and moving down, pressing kisses lower until Kurt sucks harder than he needs to at the fingers in his mouth and moans around them and twists to look at Blaine again, coaxing him in with his eyes until Blaine leans down over him and kisses him hard. It's too hot, everything pressing him down, covering him and there's so much energy over his skin he doesn't think he should be able to enjoy it but he does. Sweat diluted with water, now just as hot as the air and skin over and beneath it and sliding between his back and Blaine's chest. And it's sticky sweat, even stickier than usual.

Kurt breaks the kiss, breathless and stupidly hot and for the first time since the A/C went out—actually, for the first time in days—he doesn't care too much. He twists hard now, demanding and grabbing at Blaine's waist until he can roll his own hips over and settle on his back—_finally_—pressing instantly up into his boyfriend who looks a little bit dumbfounded by the turn of events.

Blaine's lips are redder than they should be, even in the flickering half-light of the candles, and he grins as he grinds down playfully. Kurt's hands, for whatever reason, have found themselves wrapped around Blaine's wrists and he takes advantage of that to pull Blaine down against him for another kiss.

"I thought you weren't interested," Blaine laughs against his mouth as he pulls his hands free and shifts to shove Kurt's underwear down his legs, enjoying the movement beneath him as Kurt wriggles and kicks them away. Blaine's voice is singsong and teasing as he wraps his hand around Kurt's hard length and sets up a slow, steady pace, "You want me."

Kurt grins and feigns disdain even as his breath catches and Blaine just waits for him to break character and take him. "That is an unavoidable physical reaction to all this unwelcome attention you've lavished upon me and you know it."

Blaine plays along. "I'm not so sure I care." He kisses a path down Kurt's neck sucking lightly and rather enjoying the slide of his mouth over the sheen of sweat. Blaine twists his wrist just so and as Kurt groans beneath him, not even trying to quell the noise as he arches up again, prompts the addition of, "And I'm not so sure I believe you."

Blaine uncurls his fingers then, pleased with the state of the man beneath him and props himself back up on just his knees—less contact because it really is too hot and he wants to stretch this out as long as he can. Wants to lose as much of this godforsaken night in the man lying beneath him.

Blaine grabs another handful of strawberries and settles back over Kurt's thighs as Kurt props himself up on his elbows a little to glare and huff at Blaine impatiently.

"Just—" Blaine lets his eyes sweep, unsure when he last had the chance to look at Kurt by candlelight. A year, maybe two? He can't remember exactly. "Just, let me," he says and it verges just slightly on being a plea.

Kurt stills and stops glaring and his features rearrange, letting Blaine glimpse the adoration in the quirk of his mouth and the sudden softness in his eyes as he shrugs a little.

The moment slips away in the hot air as cold droplets drip onto Kurt's abdomen from the hand in which Blaine's still clutching the berries. Blaine grins wickedly, eyes darkening as he leans down and presses his mouth just below Kurt's ribs, tipping the half dozen steadily melting strawberries into the dip of his navel and holding Kurt down as his body reflexively arches.

The ripple of muscles makes one fall to the side onto the bed and Kurt's grumbling again before he thinks about ruining the mood, "You're cleaning the sheets."

A dark chuckle and a murmured, "Whatever," comes from Blaine as he retrieves the berry and presses it into Kurt's mouth, effectively shutting him up.

The remaining strawberries disappear too quickly, in lines across each of Kurt's clavicles, in circles across the musculature of his shoulders, in a spiral that takes two attempts to get right across his stomach and finally in a line down the center of his chest. Each is then pressed between Kurt's lips as Blaine pleases, until Kurt is staring down and shivering as Blaine traces the last one in a zigzag over the trail of hair beneath his belly button.

When he's done and has allowed himself a moment to admire the artwork before him, Blaine catches Kurt's eye and then leans down and licks.

Kurt has always had a thing for Blaine's mouth. Always. And as Blaine keeps licking, sucking, _devouring_, it is _so_ intense and Blaine knows it and is taking advantage, kissing every inch and whispering and biting at all the spots he knows he should—hips and clavicles and those inane spots, just left and down from Kurt's bellybutton, just right and up from a nipple.

At some point Kurt starts to grind upwards again, twisting until he finds friction against flesh and harkening back to their teenage years when this was what they were best at—useless rutting, contact from anything, stomach or thigh or another cock, and Kurt does it now because he's not sure he needs anything more than Blaine's mouth against his skin tonight. He feels Blaine move, leaning over him with legs straddling his hips, now giving him ample flesh to press up against, and placing his hands on either side of Kurt's head. He leans in and kisses him, tasting like strawberries and still slightly cold but quickly heating up.

Kurt's too distracted to notice Blaine reaching up again, doesn't know there are more frozen berries in play until Blaine's hand is smoothing one back across his chest and pressing it to a nipple, swirling and flicking. And it's _so _cold and _so _much and Kurt bucks into the touch, keening as his lips break from Blaine's then saying too loudly, shocked and turned on, "Jesus Christ, Blaine."

When his vision clears there's a smug grin on the face of the man leaning down to lick across the pink nipple and Kurt can basically taste the arrogance layered between them in the air and faintly remembers trying very hard to be against all of this—though now he can't remember why. He just remembers trying very hard to explain that it was a bad idea but now Blaine's smug because Kurt is writhing and keening and it feels like the best idea in the world.

Except it's still hot and now they're both even more sweaty and Kurt can feel the stickiness from the fruit and he knows that _should_ be frustrating so when Blaine leans in, still so smug, and whispers, "I knew I could change your mind," Kurt snaps a little.

It's not so much a conscious decision as it is a demand from somewhere buried deep in his brain that only surfaces in sharp bursts and only when Blaine pushes him. The heat and the stickiness probably add to it. But he reaches up, grabbing Blaine's hips with force and then shoving him to the side and onto his back with a bounce and for a strange second they're almost lying beside each other, the sudden space feeling momentarily cool, and then Kurt moves fluidly, with purpose. He tugs at Blaine's underwear and in a single movement slides them down his legs and away from his feet and drops them to the floor.

He shifts on his knees, moving over one of Blaine's legs and is unsurprised when Blaine's other leg shifts wider to accommodate him. He grins down and it's a devilish smirk that makes Blaine's eyes narrow in the best of ways, like he suspects what's coming but, even after all these years, can't be sure of the permutation that will eventuate from it.

Then Kurt leans down, letting his hand push up Blaine's stomach, then chest, nails scratching just a little and weight pushing down more than necessary.

When he kisses Blaine it's deep and demanding and Blaine whimpers into his mouth, legs crossing at the ankles behind Kurt's back, pressing up and against him as close as he can and getting wet, heavy friction from the sweat. Kurt purrs against his throat as he kisses there and Blaine knows he's done for.

Kurt lifts slightly, still resting most of his weight against Blaine's chest and hips because Blaine won't loosen his legs and Kurt's perfectly happy to be sprawled there. He fishes out the biggest strawberry his fingers can find, noting the instant stickiness on his hand, the unmistakable smell as he brings the fruit between them and the focus of Blaine's eyes to it.

Resting it against Blaine's lips, he presses it just beyond them and whispers, "Bite," in a way Blaine is never going to be able to say no to. The tip of the fruit gone, Kurt paints a line across Blaine's jaw, eyes inquisitive as he watches red juice spread and stain and remembers how much was on his back.

He wonders just how well Blaine's mouth cleaned him up. Leaning down he uses his teeth more than he should but licks hard at the juice until it's gone. When he repeats the act down the column of Blaine's throat, circling the Adam's apple even as it bobs in front of his eyes, Blaine groans and jolts up and Kurt wonders how close he is to just coming all over his stomach. Because all the signs say close.

But he doesn't want that and with a nip to Blaine's jaw again, just hard enough that he thinks the mark might last through the night, he slides his hands down to press at Blaine's thighs, levering his legs apart and back on to the bed so he can kneel up between them and look down with mock admonishment in his eyes. "Patience," he scolds.

Blaine only whines in return and after more than six years he's stopped caring about how uselessly desperate he tends to get and now just revels in the reaction his lying there wrecked and needy evokes in Kurt.

A telltale darkening of his eyes, a tilt of his head, a quirk of his lips and Kurt falls back down onto his hands for another teasing kiss, coaxing Blaine's tongue out of his mouth to lick at his lips and press to his own in an obscene open-mouthed mess between them. Then he pulls too far away and drops two strawberries into his mouth, sucking on them hard enough to hollow his cheeks and captivate Blaine and moans around the taste to make his boyfriend gape.

Then it's more of the same open-mouth kiss and cold berries passed back and forth between their lips, melting and messy and Kurt has to lap at the trail of red dribbling from the corner of Blaine's mouth towards the mattress before he pulls back again.

Blaine moans wantonly and his hands alight at Kurt's waist and try to tempt him back down but Kurt's having none of it and instead kneels back and brings Blaine's knees up along either side of him. Looking down, uninhibited, Kurt lets himself drink in the splayed body of his boyfriend—the ridiculously sexy, desperate, sweaty mess that is still arching a little intermittently and is clutching at the sheets because he can't reach Kurt and is staring back with wild eyes and red stains punctuating his neck. Kurt wonders what exactly _he_ looks like.

Then he waves the almost empty bag of now mostly-melted fruit at Blaine as a tease before pulling the last two out and holding them together between fingers and thumbs, considering. With another wicked smile that has Blaine whining before it even happens, Kurt's spare hand coaxes Blaine's right leg closer and then up, moving Blaine's calf across his shoulder so he can turn and lick a wet kiss to the side of Blaine's knee. A wet, hot kiss and then the press of cold, disintegrating fruit just south of his mouth to the soft skin at the start of the inside of Blaine's thigh.

Kurt's eyes slide to meet Blaine's as he lets his hand trail lower, the berries crushed to Blaine's skin, juice trickling down and none of it even cold anymore. He smiles and Blaine smiles back dazedly and then Kurt bites at the red stain, licks and follows his descending hand until he daren't go any further, licks what's left of the fruit off his hand and finishes licking away most of the stickiness on Blaine's leg—a thigh so tense and occasionally trembling under his tongue and Kurt marvels at the sensitivity there.

Blaine's leg falls away and he crosses his ankles again behind Kurt. With the insistent pressure of his heels against the small of Kurt's back he tips him forward, catching him with hands against his chest and legs tight against his hips and a groan that's half swallowed as their mouths meet again.

They press and grind and it's all hopeless because the hot, heavy air makes the feelings thicker, makes the wanting more and the sounds escaping their mouths louder.

Kurt bites at Blaine's bottom lip, pulling back and stilling his hands in the other man's hair, gripping and holding him to the mattress so he can pull back and breathe and ask with lips too red and voice rasping, "What do you want?"

Blaine answers without thinking, Kurt's question is one he's answered a thousand times—some nights with ideas, some nights with endearments, with demands or with giggles, or with blushing uncertainty. Some nights, like tonight, he really doesn't care beyond the siren call in his head and all around. _Please. Now. You. Kurt. Always you. _So he just murmurs, "You," and tries to kiss him again, tries to lose himself in the burn of skin and air around him.

Kurt laughs against his mouth and rocks hard into Blaine's hips, angling just right to press his length up against Blaine's, and he growls to stop himself from melting into a useless mess. It would be unfair that Blaine can do this to him with just one whispered, desperate word, except Kurt knows he can do it right back.

"But tonight?" Kurt pushes.

Blaine smiles, obviously already blissed out even though he's still sliding up and against Kurt, making them both moan every other moment. "Just you," he says.

Kurt murmurs back, "Good," and then untangles his hands from Blaine's hair and trails them down his face, across shoulders and down sides and lets the pads of his fingers catch at the stickiness still there. Oh this is going to be such a mess to survey tomorrow. Again he raises up a little, trying to get space, to catch his breath, but Blaine's legs stay tight as one hand moves across his stomach, tracing the contours and lines and coming to rest at the curve of thigh into abdomen before slipping lower, squeezing at Blaine's ass and feeling him arch at just the hint.

"Like this," Blaine whispers, his own hands reaching and grabbing, sliding around Kurt's back and down to his ass and pulling him forward.

Kurt smiles, in perfect acquiescence with the idea and Blaine lets his hand stretch, his whole back twisting in his effort to reach the nightstand's drawer, pull it open and toss the bottle of lube in Kurt's general direction. Kurt's catch is deft and then he pushes away and back, using his hands to pull Blaine's ankles apart and wide so he can shuffle back towards the edge of the bed and perch there, between Blaine's legs with Blaine watching on, wrecked and confused and mumbling, "Kurt, I thought…"

Kurt shushes him and stares again at the flicker of light off hot slickened skin, at the flush and the stain of red across him and at the bob of Blaine's cock, hard and all for him waiting restless in the air above his stomach. Kurt's eyes flicker lower, across Blaine spread and _his_, pupils already blown wide with lust and _fuck_, but he loves this man. Loves everything about him and perhaps especially his willingness to lie here so vulnerable and aching for attention and just waiting because Kurt wants to look at him.

Kurt shuffles back further and Blaine raises an enquiring eyebrow as Kurt leans forward, shifting to hold behind a knee and then wraps his spare hand around Blaine's length but doesn't stroke, far too aware of how fast that could—and would—escalate.

"Just quickly," Kurt offers by way of explanation as he presses a silly chaste kiss to the tip of Blaine's cock, a kiss that barely registers on the touch scale but makes Blaine mewl at the sight. Kurt blushes but his skin is already so flushed from the heat that it doesn't show. "You and strawberries," he continues, acutely aware of the sharp-sweet, echoes-of-cold taste in his mouth as he licks teasingly at the underside. "How could I not?"

Blaine's head angles back into the bed and he stares at the flicker of light playing across the ceiling. Over the years he's gotten very good at withstanding the teasing attentions of Kurt's mouth on his cock and not just coming undone immediately. But still the electricity that races through him at the _sight_ is uncontrollable. So he chooses not to look because he wants desperately to come with Kurt inside him tonight.

Somehow he doesn't hear or sense Kurt beyond his mouth working up and down his cock in a slow, licking, tease of a blowjob. Just feels the familiar slide of Kurt's fingers, wet and slippery with lube, over his balls to ghost across his entrance. And that's all the warning he gets, all the warning he wants, before Kurt's pressing a finger against, him, gentle, insistent pressure and then slipping inside.

Blaine gasps and pushes down against him and again thinks it's been too long since they did _this_. Weeks, at least, since they got this far and he promises himself it'll happen more often. Kurt just presses his mouth in sloppy but chaste kisses down the side of his cock and works his finger up to a steady rhythm, patient until Blaine's hips are rocking down in time with the press of his fingers and his gasps have leveled out.

Kurt slips a second finger inside and his eyes flutter shut to feel Blaine tight and hot and arching and he wants to rush but doesn't, sucks just once at the head of Blaine's cock before letting his lips move to kiss at one hip and then the other, his fingers stretching, rubbing, stroking just lightly as the moments pass and Kurt just settles to watch and stroke himself with his spare hand, barely aware he's doing it.

When Blaine keens his name, Kurt curls his fingers just so, knowing exactly what he's doing and stifling a grin and a gasp when he catches Blaine just there and Blaine raises inches off the bed, hands untangling from the sheets and reaching blindly for Kurt as something strangled and desperate escapes his throat.

Kurt strokes over the spot again, two fingers now shifting easily inside him and Blaine moans again, Kurt's name tangled in the noise. The leg draped over Kurt's shoulder drops and Blaine's trying to pull him forward even as his abdomen tenses and he sits half way up, hands twisting beneath Kurt's, pushing past to touch Kurt everywhere, begging him forward and he whispers, "Kurt, please."

Kurt smiles, not quite a smirk, but pleased with himself because he hadn't been aiming for pleading tonight but has gotten it anyway. His fingers slip out of Blaine's body with a parting gentle caress and a pat to the swell of his ass. He finds the discarded bottle and tips more of the liquid into his hand, sliding his palm over his own cock, slickening the skin even more, and biting down on his lip to stop from groaning.

He crawls forward, pressing them close and swallowing the noises Blaine makes with a wet kiss before pulling back to kneel between his legs again, sitting back but close and spreading his knees out, lifting Blaine's hips with strong broad hands and wondering if this is exactly what Blaine had imagined when he'd said, '_Like this'._

Tellingly, Blaine's legs move quickly, bending at the knee and then the hip, his hands holding under his knees and close to his own body and he gives Kurt a look that belies the vulnerability of his position, a look that says he knows exactly what he's doing and he's damn proud of it. And Kurt has to close his eyes for a moment because suddenly he's right there, Blaine spread and eager for him, _again_, and Kurt's cock brushing up against his entrance, everything wet and ready and still so, so hot.

He sinks his body down, a hand wrapped around his own cock, now pressing just barely against where Blaine needs him and his other hand smoothing up across Blaine's cock where it lays across his stomach, then up over his chest to his jaw to angle his face to look down at him. Kurt can't quite reach up and kiss him yet but he catches Blaine's gaze before he looks back down between them and lets his hips press forward, biting his lip hard at the moment's resistance before he slips inches inside Blaine's body.

Blaine groans, low and guttural and good and tries to slide closer, needing more. He's so used to the full, hot, heavy feel of it that he knows how it goes from here, from stretched and aching beautifully to a fit so sublime… and he just _wants_. Kurt just watches Blaine's face as he pushes the rest of the way in and then stills, heart racing, skin overheated, then steadies and realizes this isn't going to last much longer, they've done too much already and this is just the climax to a night in the city heat.

If anything, Blaine just pushes down harder, trying to take more of Kurt inside him even though there's nothing left to take, spread his legs more and wills his abs to lift him closer, blatant in his desire and need and then Kurt breathes out, his first sound in minutes and whimpers Blaine's name in a rasping growl.

Kurt leans forward, needing to kiss him, needing more contact and heat and slide and Blaine's hands forget his legs and rush over Kurt's chest, leaving Kurt to grip at him, mid-thigh, holding him still and there as their tongues meet in desperation and Blaine wriggles, searching for friction while Kurt just rocks ever so gently.

"Move," Blaine grinds out against Kurt's lips and then captures his tongue in his mouth and sucks hard for emphasis.

"Patience," Kurt teases back in a breathless voice punctuated with a proper thrust, something dark and powerful about the movement making Blaine whine high and then low as Kurt resumes rocking.

But then Blaine just grins and says, "Fucking _move_," as he reaches a hand down and strokes at his cock, making sure to catch at Kurt's ribs on the way, making sure he knows what's happening and ignoring the ache in his abdomen from twisting up and at angles his workouts don't account for. Kurt bites at his lip and Blaine tries again, shifting dangerously and throwing his hips towards Kurt's and setting off a staccato of shallow hard thrusts that it takes Kurt seconds to reign in. "Fucking move—_please_," hoarse and wrecked and delicious.

Kurt mumbles something about magic words and grins at the man grinning back and presses his fingers harder into the flesh under them, holding Blaine up as he pulls back until just the tip remains inside and then surges forward, making them both gasp. Blaine mumbles about being too close, too much and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment in an attempt to prolong the inevitable.

But Kurt understands, moves inside him all surging, hungry need, again and again and yes, Kurt_ understands_. Their mouths meet when they can, sweat and sugar and saliva ubiquitous across their necks and chests because when their tongues can't press to each other they press wherever else.

Blaine keeps stroking at himself, his other hand pressing fingerprints into Kurt's ribs, urging him on before burying his fingers in his hair and simply rubbing a thumb back and forth across Kurt's temple.

Kurt's hands hold steady at Blaine's thighs as Kurt lets out ragged breath after ragged breath and finds himself murmuring Blaine's name over and over.

When Blaine arches high it's the beginning of the end, Kurt's cock sliding that half inch deeper at the change in angle, the head catching at that spot inside Blaine perfectly and the sound of flesh against flesh echoes louder between the noises and names and expletives escaping their mouths.

It's too much, so much. So, _so_ much and even though the heat's oppressive it's been a while since they felt this alive against each other, since they had the time and the excuse of sleeplessness to let their bodies fall like this, to fall so perfectly into synch together, desperate and slow and now so fast.

Blaine says "Oh god, Kurt," once more, this time different, more breathless, a warning, his back straightening, his abdomen giving in as he falls back against the bed and Kurt drives hard into him, sitting up straighter, finding more momentum, once, twice and then again and again as Blaine's back bows and he chokes out something affectionate and thankful and filthy and comes in hot stuttering streaks across his hand and stomach, his whole body tensing, shuddering through it as Kurt keeps moving, stretching the orgasm out and holding his own body back until the last second.

Feeling Blaine tighten around him, watching him stretched and taut and utterly undone and murmuring Kurt's name as the aftershocks make him shiver, Kurt snaps his hips forward one last time and cries out, gripping at Blaine's thighs hard enough to bruise and holds him there, flush against his hips as he rocks ever so slightly and rides out his orgasm buried deep inside his boyfriend. _Just too much. _

He holds himself there for a second afterwards, shaking more with the exertion than the pleasure but wanting to stay close even as the ridiculously sticky, sweaty state of them becomes apparent. He breathes out through his nose, almost a laugh as his head swims and he fights to recall his own name. Then Blaine rocks and it's too intense and thankfully Blaine seems to agree and squirms away, letting Kurt's cock slip from him with an obscene sound that always makes them both smirk.

Blaine rolls to the left and Kurt collapses onto his stomach. In a minute they'll try to move, try to survey the mess and not blush at how out of control they got. Kurt will blame Blaine for bringing in the strawberries in the first place and Blaine will remind Kurt what a grump he was being. But for now they're just remembering the heat and the weight of it and really wishing this was the moment where the A/C kicked back in.

It doesn't.

Blaine's hand searches out Kurt's and— oh yes —it's sticky, but he doesn't really mind and just laces their fingers together and makes a happy sound as he looks across the bed at him.

Kurt's eyes are closed but he smiles and says, "You'd think I'd be able to say no to you after all this time."

"You didn't actually want to say no," Blaine explains as his thumb draws circles on the back of his hand.

There's a few seconds delay but then Kurt replies, "I really did to begin with."

Blaine scoffs at that, Kurt hears him. And then Blaine's breathing settles, just audible and a little shallow as the heat starts to weigh down on them both again. Someone down in the street swears loudly in Italian and Blaine sighs and Kurt suspects he's opened his eyes, suspects he is staring at the A/C and willing it back on with his mind. Except Kurt can't quite find the energy to open his eyes again and look over at him.

He's exhausted and spent and he smiles again, broad and content and not even a little bit grumpy anymore and then he's smelling strawberries and vanilla and undeniably messy sex in the air and there are fuzzy images flickering through his mind, every one of them involving the man still stroking circles across his hand.

And then he just is and as he surrenders happily to sleep and his awareness slips farther and farther away from him, the last thing he feels is a hand and a connection that he knows will follow him under.

* * *

><p><em>Yeah...so I wrote that. I've spent two days wandering around randomly blushing because of it and freaking out at sillygleekt, the beta, I can't even pinpoint why! But that is some seriously smutty smut and long and it feels very intimate compared to the other stuff. A different level, or something. And it's my random guess at what they'll be like in six years! Hopefully you enjoyed it, hopefully you'll review it - constructive stuff, always welcome as well as stuff just to make me grin! Hopefully I go off and write more.<em>

And now you must go and read Undocumented Masterpieces which is the second chapter but is the actual end/epilogue as penned by sillygleekt which, seriously is a beautiful, stunning little tag and just...seriously, go and read it, you'll thank me. And now I know she can write so my endings will remain crappy...

But...yay! done!


	2. Undocumented Masterpiece

**Warnings: **evidence of recent consensual m/m sex, minor nudity and implied nudity, post-coital fluffiness, inexcusably mistreated fine linens (that's more Kurt's warning than mine), extreme verbosity

**Author's Notes:** Ok, so this thing wasn't supposed to happen. I don't write, I beta. I was happily beta-ing (it _is so_ a word) away on "Hot Fun" and the ending needed some tweaking and what started out as "notes to self" turned into _this_. A million trillion gajillion (again, _so_ a word) thank to Aeria for not even considering killing me (and in fact being amazingly supportive) for hijacking the end of her fic. I think _very_ visually so this is pretty much a written-out version of what played out in my head as film shots and an epic still photograph. I could _see_ this and initially only wrote it out as a reference for myself. Anyway, if you want a soundtrack to go along with this "scene" (because scenes with no dialogue need music playing over them) then go with Zero 7's "Simple Things" (the song, though the album itself is _fantastic_ sexy times music).

**Disclaimer: **Don't own _Glee_ or any part of it. If I did, I wouldn't have so much anticipatory angst about what they might decide to do in season 3.

**Epilogue: Undocumented Masterpiece**

Blaine's eyes drift closed, even as in the back of his mind he knows he can't actually fall asleep just yet—there are still candles burning. The heat and humidity seem to surround him, suffocating him, pressing in on him as the distraction of Kurt and ice and strawberries shift from the present into the past tense.

The only comfort his heat-addled brain can extract for the moment is the gentle pressure of his now peacefully sleeping boyfriend's fingers entwined with his. He takes a deep breath, trying to will himself to ignore the oppressive discomfort. His exhale sounds like a resigned sigh.

Eventually, Blaine realizes that no matter how much he wishes he could ignore it, he's not going to get even vaguely comfortable until he answers his body's protests for the relief that only a cool shower will provide. Slowly, he extricates his fingers from Kurt's and carefully rolls off the bed, making sure to disturb it as little as possible even as his mind is already in the bathroom, turning shower knobs in a fantasy of cool streams of water washing away hot and sweaty and sticky. As he makes his way silently around the corner of the bed he glances back momentarily and finds himself stopping in his tracks, his mind suddenly snapped back into the present moment.

Blaine turns and stares at the bed, surveying the elements before him in awe as they flicker gently in golden hues—that perfect light that can only be created by candles and fires and setting suns. The top sheet is twisted and bunched and cascading off the bed, held up only by one corner of fabric trapped beneath Kurt's chest. The bottom sheet is an utter mess of strawberry juice stains, bits of crushed berry and expanses of darkened cotton that are a combination of melted ice and sweat and Blaine has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing as the thought _well this redefines the concept of wet spot_ spontaneously invades his otherwise serene thoughts. Then the centerpiece of the scene snaps into focus and humorous thoughts vanish as his eyes take in the man asleep on the bed, _his_ man and the man _he_ belongs _to_, a sheen of sweat covering expanses of pale smooth skin interrupted by lines and swirls of reddish stain that would seem artistic to him even if they weren't using that achingly beautiful man as their canvas.

Blaine's focus pulls back to take in the entirety of the scene and he finds himself utterly struck by it. The idea of being a photographer has never previously occurred to him, but for a brief moment he yearns almost desperately to capture and preserve this tableau if only to be able to show it to Kurt later—because Kurt would be someone who could fully appreciate just how stunningly beautiful the totality of it is. This is the kind of image one of Kurt's fashion photographer friends would _kill_ to have in her portfolio. He's never given much consideration to his knowledge of visual art either but _this_—the light, the shadows, the colors, the angle at which Kurt is splayed across his side of the bed on his stomach, the long unbroken line of his naked silhouette from the curve of a heel all the way up to the point at which neck meets a mess of utterly unkempt hair—even the most uneducated eye would see the inarguable artistry in this.

A bead of sweat rolls over the ridge of one of Blaine's eyebrows and as he instinctively swipes it away with the back of his hand before it can reach his eye, his awareness shifts—back to the stifling heat, back to the oppressive humidity, back to the sticky, sweaty discomfort of his own body in this space and time. He's has no idea how long he's been standing there, but he smiles as the sounds and smells of the world retake their places in his conscious mind, and begins to move silently around the room again, blowing out the candles one by one and forcing the undocumented masterpiece to fade into oblivion tiny snuffed flame by tiny snuffed flame.


	3. Thread Count

**Title:** Thread Count

**Rating:** M

**Summary:** The day after "The Night with the Strawberries"—which is what Blaine plans on calling it for as long as it takes for that thought to stop making him grin…and then the day after that and a little further down the line.

This is the last part of what's turned into a three part series of future Klaine and strawberries and messy sex and sheets.

All up just smutty, fluffy smuff. With strawberries…Except not in this one. You can read this one without the others…just know there was messy, hot, frozen-strawberry based sex in the first two and this is the aftermath of that.

**Warnings:** None for this part.

**Spoilers:** Season 2

**Wordcount:** 2500 for this, so about 11000 all up.

**A/N:** Took me a while but here is the sequel thing to the other two fics. Just because I couldn't not write it after a conversation with sillygleekt wherein we discussed New York and doing the laundry and the state of those sheets the morning after the night with the strawberries. Thank you to her for editing this one and writing the ending. I just sent it to her sans ending because I couldn't think of a good enough one and she obliged. Also preemptive thanks to her for editing not just easy(ish) fics like this but also the agonizingly difficult-to-write ones which make me into a bratty pain in the ass and that she has to comb through time and time again and try to explain to me what I'm doing wrong and then read it again and again. Thanks (and chocolate and souls and stuff) for that.

Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

* * *

><p>The day after "The Night with the Strawberries"—which is what Blaine plans on calling it for as long as it takes for that thought to stop making him grin—Blaine barely puts up a fight when Kurt insists he take the atrociously messy sheets down to the little Chinese laundry around the corner. He spares a few minutes to try to convince Kurt that the stains are permanent and rather unbecoming and blushes when he imagines the face of the tiny elderly woman who runs the place when she sees them.<p>

An hour later, however, he's standing there and blushing again as she clicks her tongue and lifts the folded sheets to look disbelievingly at the bright red stains and sniff and know damn well what is going on. He can't believe Kurt's making him do this.

She tells him in a lot of rambling Mandarin and a few choice English words and a lot of flailing arm gestures that washing them is futile. He also suspects she's accusing him of something he probably doesn't want to know about. But he just pushes the heap of sheets in her direction and says slowly, "I know they'll be stained. Just try."

And then he's out the door as she yells after him, still gesticulating wildly, "You pick up in morning!" and the stifling New York air is hitting his flushed face and he's shaking his head and walking home. Thank god the A/C is working again and Kurt's got it running full blast.

* * *

><p>The sheets are stained. They're mortifying when put in the context that for every splash of faded pink—and there are so, so many—there must have been ten times as much juice on their skin that night. But mortifying in such a good way. And as Blaine's wrists flick the folded, laundered material out over the bed for Kurt to survey he feels a strange sense of pride.<p>

"The fitted sheet is going to be just as bad, isn't it?" Kurt asks.

Blaine can only imagine. But kind of wants to check and quickly pulls it out of the bag and flicks it over the bed over the top-sheet. Actually, the fitted sheet is worse—a lot worse. There's darker reds and what he thinks are red-silhouetted curves that he kind of wants to assign to body parts and fingers—where they'd held the sheets hard enough to stave off the dyes, where Kurt had pressed him down with his hands. He thinks he can tell exactly where everything happened but he also thinks he might be making a lot of that up in his head.

He just says, not meaning it at all, "Sorry."

"Well _really_, Blaine." Kurt's aiming for indignant and his voice hits the mark beautifully. Except he's staring at the strawberry stains and smiling as well.

Blaine looks at him and then reaches out and pulls him in for a kiss, arms linking around his waist. "Worth losing a couple of cheap sheets for?" Blaine asks when he pulls back an inch.

Kurt laughs against his mouth and pushes him back and still manages to sound indignant when he says, "Hey, I'll have you know those are Egyptian cotton, 600 thread count, Blaine!" But he's also smiling radiantly and pulling the sheets into his hands. "I don't suppose we can convince the laundry to try bleaching them."

Blaine grimaces and shakes his head. "I am not going back to her with these. When she handed them over you should have _seen_ the look she gave me."

Kurt laughs lightly and then scrunches the sheets back into the bag.

* * *

><p><em>Four months later.<em>

"I thought you'd be later," Kurt says as Blaine walks in the door.

"I couldn't stay there a moment longer, the day had already dragged on too long and I know you cooked tonight and…" Blaine pulls off his knit hat and scarf and the heavy jacket he'd bought last week when the weather started to turn cold.

Kurt shushes him and shakes his head, long over Blaine missing dinner when it didn't really matter. He always calls and begs forgiveness and Kurt always forgives. "You look exhausted—"

"Thanks," and Blaine rolls his eyes and rakes a hand through his hair.

"—Sit down and I'll heat you something up."

There's a thankful smile and a heavy sigh and Blaine's bags drop where he's standing just inside the door. Then he crosses the room and slumps into one of the two chairs, head in his hands, elbows on the table and his eyes closed.

Kurt's convinced he's working too hard. And he knows why and supports his boyfriend in his endeavors and in doing what he loves but today was a twelve-hour day, the third in a row, and he knows Blaine ate breakfast and lunch while he worked, drank too much coffee and didn't let his mind or the rest of his body relax. And Kurt's determined to take care of him when these hellish weeks come around.

Part of that involves staring at the top of his head while the microwave hums. When it beeps, Blaine doesn't even flinch and Kurt lets the corner of his mouth quirk up at his good luck and doesn't waste time pulling the ceramic bowl from inside and quickly walking away.

It takes only a few seconds for Blaine to be calling his name in a whining needy voice that makes Kurt feel bad and smirk all at once. He doesn't respond but in the small apartment Blaine already knows where Kurt must have gone and is dragging his feet loudly in the direction of the bedroom a moment later.

He turns the doorknob and pushes, a hand rubbing at his face as his brow furrows and he tries to work out where his dinner has gone and what his boyfriend is playing at. "Kurt, what are you doing?" he's mumbling before his eyes focus on the room and he slowly pieces together the picture in front of him.

Kurt's smiling at him from where he's perched, legs crossed, on the end of the bed. Dark eyes and dark hair, his skin glowing, his silhouette backlit, from the flicker of candles on both bedside tables. They've been burning a while and the room smells of vanilla and strawberries and—_Oh._

"Are those…?" Blaine asks, voice a little shaky as he stares past Kurt to their usually immaculately made bed: it should be all black and gold angles but isn't because the covers are folded neatly in the corner and the pillows are up against the wall and all that's left is a fitted sheet and a light cotton top-sheet just like the ones they use in summer.

"Are those what Blaine?" Kurt asks, voice melodious and high and already teasing.

Blaine blushes and he doesn't remember the last time he blushed because his boyfriend made him. "Are those the sheets?"

Kurt does a horrible job of playing dumb, grinning too broadly at his own ingenious plan and very pleased to see Blaine's eyes brightened and his shoulders squared like they haven't been since the week started. A tilt of his head and an enquiring raised eyebrow as he asks "Which sheets?" and then as an afterthought, "Get undressed."

Blaine huffs but raises his hands to start unbuttoning his vest and the shirt underneath hurriedly. It makes Kurt chuckle. And then Blaine says, "I thought you threw them out."

"I decided they might come in handy." Kurt doesn't want to waste time and is only wearing a sweater so he just pulls it over his head and lays it to the side of the bed. When he looks back up Blaine is staring at him with wonder in his eyes.

"_You_, Kurt Hummel, kept _stained_ sheets?"

Kurt shrugs and wonders how long it's going to take his mentally exhausted boyfriend to do the basic math of the situation.

"But you won't even wear stained undershirts. You caught me wearing one with a coffee stain once and threatened to break up with me!"

It's an exaggeration. But Kurt had quickly pulled the offending item off him and disposed of it. "It made perfect sense to keep them. No point ruining good sheets every time things get messy."

That makes Blaine grin and the curve of his lips makes the tiredness around his eyes dissolve as Kurt watches. "Messy?" he asks as he shrugs the unbuttoned layers off his shoulders and starts to work on his belt buckle.

Kurt makes a sound low in his throat that sounds like agreement and stares unabashedly as Blaine lets his pants slide down his legs and bends to unlace his shoes, step out of them and pull off his socks. Then he's standing there, naked except for underwear, hair askew and eyes bright and blatantly contemplating the situation.

Blaine's gaze alights on the bedside table, straying from Kurt properly to admire the red and white candles Kurt has obviously bought for the occasion and reveling in the smell of strawberries in the air. The scent brings back memories—very, _very _fond memories that he hasn't thought about enough recently. Then he sees the bowl beside the candles and his brow creases as he wonders and Kurt breathes out "_Finally_," and scoots up the bed to lean back against the headboard, his pants slung low across his hips.

"What's that?" Blaine motions with his hand before he crawls on to the bed and up to kneel between his boyfriends outstretched legs as he tries to see beyond the familiar light blue ceramic of one of their soup bowls.

Kurt twists to the side, stretching out a hand and retrieving the bowl from the table, finding it still hot but not burning his fingers in the way it had when he'd pulled it from the microwave. "This is the soon-to-be mess," Kurt explains, voice purposely breathy and low.

Blaine sits back, happy to wait for Kurt to show him because that is evidently the plan. "Keeping strawberry stained sheets is just a little bit naughty, you know," Blaine explains. Kurt hums and dips a finger into the bowl.

Actually, Blaine's worked out what's in there, can smell it now that he's sitting close and caught enough glimpses to be certain. But he's not about to tell Kurt that. He's much happier to stay where he is, kneeling and watching as Kurt's finger twirls and comes out and moves quickly to press against Blaine's lips.

There's a moment's resistance as their eyes meet and everything freezes and on a weekend this might be where Blaine tries to reverse the seduction, to give tit for tat and level the playing field and all that. It's not though. It's a Wednesday and Blaine has two more long, hard days of work. So instead Blaine just opens his mouth and sucks at the hot liquid chocolate on Kurt's finger, letting himself get lost in the taste and the familiar feel of Kurt's skin in his mouth.

When Kurt pulls back there's a groan that Blaine doesn't even try to swallow and he opens his eyes, not sure when he closed them. Kurt just looks at him critically for a second, trying to determine how tired he is, how much of the fatigue is mental, exactly what he needs tonight. Then Kurt's hands press him back, coercing him from his knees, onto his back and then letting his hands trace wherever they please for a minute, working Blaine quickly into something loose and malleable before he dips a finger again and starts to draw patterns across his chest.

Breathless already and loving that, Blaine asks, "Why tonight?"

Kurt puts the finishing touch on a lopsided heart around a nipple, then ruins the design with a sweep of his hand and raises his palm to Blaine's mouth. "I thought you needed something to take your mind off work."

It's true and they've discussed work, had arguments about it and agreements but with the hand that isn't at his mouth dipping to rub absent-mindedly at the lines of his hip Blaine hardly wants to talk. "Thank you," is all he murmurs.

Kurt draws something sticky along Blaine's neck and then balances himself on hands and knees, pressing down just slightly and he licks it away. When he pulls back he says, matter-of-fact, "And I've been waiting for a night to use these sheets."

Blaine laughs a little, imagining rightly that Kurt has been secretly kind of treasuring these sheets. Then the laughter is cut short as he gasps because Kurt's slipping a hand down to stroke once, lazily, through his boxers over his cock. Blaine finds his voice. "So this was all a big plan?"

"You could say that," Kurt purrs, sliding chocolate over Blaine's bottom lip and then sucking it off.

"Pre-ruined sheets?" Blaine says when Kurt's mouth has moved to bite at his collarbone, his fingers dancing chocolate spots across his abdomen.

Kurt laughs and licks at a nipple, enjoying the arch of Blaine under him. "Let's not call them that."

Blaine's voice is really failing him now, small breathless moans escaping every time Kurt presses his lips, his tongue, his teeth, still-warm chocolate-covered fingers, somewhere new. But he manages to gasp out, "What would you like to call them?" because this is a fun game and he can't get over the fact that he's lying on strawberry stained sheets that his boyfriend kept—secretly—because he planned on staining them even more.

Kurt grins, leaning back over to coat his fingers with more chocolate and then losing his balance as he tries to straighten, ending up putting his hand down on the bed to stop himself from tipping to the side. It leaves a distinct handprint of dark chocolate on the bed next to Blaine's hip.

Kurt looks down at the new addition to the stained sheets then turns his head back to look at Blaine, and as their eyes meet, they both laugh openly.

Blaine reaches over and blindly sticks his hand into the bowl, coming back with his fingers dripping chocolate over the sheet and then his own stomach as his hand hovers there for a moment. Then he reaches up and smears his hand down Kurt's chest and Kurt gasps as Blaine pulls himself up to lick a broad stripe through the chocolate line he just painted.

"Let's call them 'specialty hand-dyed sheets' then, shall we?" he suggests, smirking as he laves his tongue over one of Kurt's nipples.

Kurt's response comes out as little more than a moan. "Six hundred thread count, Blaine."

* * *

><p><em>Hope you liked it! You all know I love to hear from you so I'll just shameless beg a little here. The sequel to 'Come Undone' should be up in a few days. I just need to gear myself up to read the third giant rewrite without loathing the trauma of writing the damned thing (I'm being melodramatic, don't mind me!) Yay!<em>


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